“Vantra!” Lorgan’s harsh tone snagged her attention. “We need to find him!”
Him who?
A flash from above; Light slammed into the Sun protection, shattering all layers. With curses, the living beings flumped onto the flower-like water petals. Fear blasted through her, and she zipped away; a streak flashed past where she had floated, hit the rocky side of the hole, and bounced back, dislodging boulder-sized chunks.
She dodged and dodged, a bare breath ahead of impact, attempting to reform her shields, unable to concentrate long enough to accomplish it. The shard flared and wove shields around her. They burned a deep crimson; why? She avoided being hit one last time, but the distraction cost her; the weight of a thousand fists struck the shield, shattering it, then her back, and she slammed through the wall. Ugly contamination reached for her, and Clear Rays burst forth, an uncontrollable reaction to the terror.
The wall disintegrated, and she tumbled down with a heap of rock. Her essence vibrated as it impacted the floor, wisps knocked loose and puffing away. Better that, than phasing through and fighting the taint again. Struggling to snag the fleeing energy and keep herself whole, she brought the shard to her chest.
PAIN!
She jerked it away; Lightning coursed over it, and while it lapped at the energy, it would not swallow it quickly enough to use against the enemy. Dammit. She floated up before she regained her sense of up and down and spun, hoping to detect the ghost’s next attack.
Lorgan had a too-bright water shield surrounding their living companions, the reflections bouncing off the dust particles, hiding their precise location. It was a small glare in a humongous cavern that echoed loudly with stone striking stone. Haze hid the area of the fallen floor, with the light of a scant few torches peeking through thinner clouds.
Rocks, bodies, and crushed torches littered the ground, and showers of debris continued to rain from above. Tears for the terrible fate of the fallen raced down her cheeks, but it was far too late to do anything for them. Agitated, afraid, and quivering as the corruption in the tiniest of haze particles drifted through her, Vantra floated to a clearer side, thinning her essence so the enemy could not easily detect her, and resurrecting her shields. To her right, corrupted roots set beings down next to a brightly lit, rough stone pool with dust-coated dark water that felt like rotting meat. A stream trickled from it and through a hole far across the cave.
Where was the hooded ghost?
Mojek stepped unsteadily to the front of the pool and brought his staff down on the floor; the crack of thunder silenced the gasps, the crying, the strained coughing. Roots erupted around him, dislodging boxes surrounding the edge, and one tipped over, spilling its contents on the ground. Several rolled and fell into the water.
“The traitor lives!” he yelled, then bent over, hacking.
Vantra choked as she stared over his back. Wooden spears the length of her forearm floated on the lapping waves. They had symbols burned into the shafts, stone tips, and leather strips with twigs knotted into the ends. No. No, they couldn’t be. How—
“What are you doing?”
The priestess skimmed the surface as her shriek drowned most other sound, grabbing the floating emblems. The spears flashed, the symbols glowing a greyish forest green that bordered on charcoal, and her expression shifted from annoyed to fearful.
The floor shook, and the rufang fought to keep their feet as loose debris showered down. The priestess shouted something, and over half of the group leapt to follow her command. They divided two to a box and hefted them up, carrying the containers between them.
She could not allow them to leave. Not with the emblems!
Mind whirling on how to prevent their escape, she headed for them. Rock burst from the walls, corrupted roots blasting through the holes to intercept her. She dodged lower; in front of her, a shadow floated up from the debris-strewn ground between the haze and the pool, hand plastered to their head, the remnants of crimson-infused Sun rays flickering over their essence. She zipped to the side to avoid them as they bled into view briefly; a nymph, with a long face, trimmed goatee, thin mustache, and sleek, dark forest green hair pulled back in a head-topping tail. He wore the same cloak as the ghost with Hrivasine, so this must be the advisor Elora hated.
He jerked as he noticed her and disappeared, Light-fast.
She heard her name, but had no time to respond. She threw a shield around the pool, detaining those trying to leave the site, and scanned for the more powerful enemy. If she could incapacitate him with Clear Rays again—
A streak of Light, and the pool shield burst like ripe fruit. She caught the form of the nymph within as he rebounded into the dustier part of the cavern; why had Elora not mentioned he swam with Light? Had he hidden that from her? How?
Mojek surged forward and thrust up; the weapon elongated, but did not reach her. Magic bubbled across the tip, and she assumed it would harm her if it connected.
A brilliant flash came from the shield Lorgan formed; it shimmered and held. The nymph, trailing sparkles of Light, arched up, over, and descended into a circle of torchlight. He raised a hand, and Light-infused Water circled his fingers.
“An impressive display, but I will take it down,” he said. His voice was higher than she expected, but no less ominous.
“I’ve heard that before,” Lorgan replied. He sounded confident, but considering his previous concern, it was an act.
“You don’t believe this will be the place you meet the Final Death?”
Mojek jumped, stabbing at her again. She arched away, unable to pay attention to the nymph and the rufang at the same time.
“Aren’t you concerned about finding Strans?” she asked. Spears flew through her, clattering against the ceiling, some landing in the pool when they tumbled back down. They smoked and spitted, and the priestess hissed, heading for the shore with the remaining emblems. She floated to another ghostly woman who held out a drying rack squeezed into a transparent box that shimmered with an unknown spell.
The marks on the rufang glowed, and his eyes glazed. A burbling green, undulating splat formed above the tip of the root.
The shard blazed crimson.
She darted away as he swiped the root around to throw the mass, and it whizzed past her head, colliding with the stone above her. The explosion blew chunks of rock and smaller bits out of the ceiling, and loose debris rained into the pool. A new shield with black lightning raced across the surface, blocking the water from further damage.
Who cast that? The feel of it, so akin to the corruption . . .
“What do you do, Mojek?” the priestess snapped. “Harm the blessed relics, and he will harm you.”
“He is dead!” the yondaii screamed, jabbing the root at her. “They killed him!”
The mantle tore from him, that was true, but Navosh lived after the sundering. So could Kjiven. Mojek thought he was a living being, though, and if the roots had not collected him as they had the others, it made sense he thought his deity was dead.
She guessed he still existed, but not in a form the rufang would recognize—so, in essence, his Strans had died. They would need to check after she stopped the enemy from escaping with the emblems. And they were almost to the exit! She aimed the shard’s tip at the exit the dwellers hastened towards.
Another hit, and she felt her core release her essence. She frantically snagged it back as Clear Rays again erupted from her, draining energy when she least could afford to lose it. Loud noise penetrated her perception, but she could not tell what caused the sound. It vibrated her, and the wisps she had not caught fluttered into nothing.
She sucked energy from the shard and threw up a shield; it shattered, wind passing by, snagging a few more wisps, but the hit did not strike true. Sun’s Luck for that.
A spear careened through her, coated in the nasty water. Spikes of corruption latched onto her essence and shot towards her core. Heat from the shard punched her and it cast Clear Rays, but not in a form familiar to her. The rays wrapped her core in bands of healing, and she drifted down. Light surrounded her, cupped her, soothed the dread; she could perceive nothing else.
“What did you do to them?”
The shock of words broke the softness. Something stabbed her, again, again, but did no damage. What was that? A knife?
Her sight stabilized; Mojek stamped his paws, his claws unsheathed and tearing at her, but because he used no spiritesti magic, he could not harm her. He did not use the root, which bubbled with nasty magic and would likely cause untold harm to her.
He jumped back as a weapon flashed above her, and fingertips brushed her arm; Kenosera, a ripped cloth wrapped around his nose and mouth. He should have remained under Lorgan’s protection!
Another touch, one she did not recognize, but before she panicked, power flowed into her, sweet, comforting. Ayara? They, too, had cloth protecting their beak and nostrils.
“You shouldn’t—”
“Hush hush,” they whispered.
“Yekkez nem nem, Ayara!”
“Eet emga, ankis.”
“Ankis?” Mojek spat, flustered. Vantra could feel the air change as the words tore into him, and he sucked in a quivery breath.
“Come no nearer,” Kenosera said, rising. Vantra wanted to reach for him, warn, him—
A red shield spun around them; all the shard’s doing, as she could barely function. It shattered, but not before the Light rebounded, spiraling away. Mojek reared, staff high, and he kicked at Kenosera.
The Light flashed, aiming for them.
She could not protect them. Shame tumbled after the realization. She squeezed her eyes shut as Ayara shouted a warning.
HELP THEM!
Who she screamed for, she did not know.
“SKEREZAHN!”
She flinched at the mindless rage backing the scream. So did everyone else.
The nymph dodged a hammer of Light that whirled through the air, but not fast enough; it shattered the spell, sending watery shards spinning in all directions. The enemy’s face twisted in enraged disbelief as he stared downstream.
Mica floated above the trickling water, bent over as he completed the throw. He straightened, and an unearthly glow sparkling around him. His rage pounded her before he disappeared in a brilliant streak. The flare of Light against Light drowned everything in impenetrable white; the ground quaked, and the water in the pool lapped up the shield, leaving dark smudges behind.
“MICA! STOP!” Jare shouted.
What was going on?
Ayara slipped an arm under her and propped her up, huffing in fear. Mojek whirled, then thundered towards the priestess, who frantically waved at him in the arch of an exit.
“Mojek!” the healer shouted. “Shed the skin of the false Strans, as they have.”
They? Through the blur, Vantra realized the rufang who had stood with the yondaii writhed in pain, their marks sizzling, the foul magic sliding to the ground and bubbling into nothing. They must have been struck by the shard’s Clear Rays, and it worked as intended, clearing the tainted touch from them. Why had it not affected Mojek?
The crash of stone echoed through the cavern.
“Hi, I’m Kjaelle. We need to get out of here.”
Vantra looked up as the elfine smiled at a suspicious Ayara, then slipped her arms under her and hefted her up.
“Kjaelle, what’s going on?” Kensoera asked as a Darkness shield spanned the area around the stricken rufang and protected the way to the exit.
“I’ll explain later. Mica’s going to bring down the cavern, and I don’t think Jare can stop him.” Kjaelle pivoted and floated towards the Water shield.
“But—” Ayara motioned at the dwellers, then looked at the exit as Kenosera snagged their wrist and pulled them after him.
The exit. “No, no, Kjaelle!” Vantra slapped her hand against her breastbone. “They have mephoric emblems! He can’t bring the cavern down!”
“What?”
“There were boxes of them here. One got knocked over, and the emblems fell into the pool, and the water powered them. We have to go after them!”
“Sjinta,” Kjaelle snarled.
More unhinged screams, more rock fell, more dust filled the air.
“Lorgan, Vantra says they have mephoric emblems!” Kjaelle called as they reached the watery shield.
“I know, I saw. But we need to get Navosh out of here first!”
“Did you know about this?” The elfine wavered between disbelief and rage. Why would she think Lorgan knew anything about the emblems?
“No.” Vantra recognized Rezenarza, and he was not hacking on dust. “I would never harm the rainforest, and I know the destruction the Beast did with his ‘toys’. His hunt for me was devastating.” His knuckles popped. “They think to play me. They will pay.” The hate in his tone echoed Mica’s, but with more focused presence. “Oubliette, Temmisere and I will retrieve the emblems. Get Strans to safety—the corruption released can only be negated by his hand, and the mantle has yet to set.”
“Sjinta,” Kjaelle said with subdued force as the straggly ends of the vines whipped about before melting into the cocoon.
A hand slapped against her forehead, and Vantra gasped as syim-infused power flared through her, a rush of agony. “I can’t soften it more, as you are more Sun than Darkness, but they will need you,” the nymph said. “The corruption hates the rays of the Sun.”
A huge crash rattled them all, and more pieces of the ceiling shook loose and fell.
“Does he run on his hate, or Talis’s?” Rezenarza muttered. “Go. I’ll block your escape.”
“Thank you,” Vantra whispered as he withdrew his touch.
“Thank me after we all survive this,” he told her.
